CHAPTER VII. "Emit domum-prope dimidio carius, quam æstimabat." ONE axiom on the question of costs is so soviously true, that we can not avoid surprise at our clients so often losing sight of it. If they wish only to pay their attorney like a shoeblack, they will soon have only shoe-bla ks for their attorneys. No man can limit himself as to the extent of costs, without cramping his exertions to a degree that may prove highly injurious to his client's interests. The casualties and accidents of litigation are so frequent, and sometimes so expensive, that they occasion more expenditure than even the whole of the proceedings that go on in the accustomed course; and if the cause of action is not of sufficient importance to warrant costs out of the ordinary routine, if necessary, it is wiser and more honest to advise the client to submit to his loss. This maxim must be received cum grano, certainly; but in cases where character is not involved, or rights ultra the subject-matter of the litigation, it is invariably true. In ordinary actions to recover debts, or damages for pecuniary injury, the expense resolves itself into mere matter of arithmetical calculation; such actions, however, form by no means the staple commodity in the business of an eminent attorney. A curious instance of this accidental expenditure to a small extent, once occurred to myself. I was engaged in a cause at the assizes about fifty miles from London. It stood first in the paper for the day following my arrival. I had traveled from town in a post-chaise with two of my witnesses, one of whom was a surveyor of eminence, who had been subpoenaed to produce his report of certain dilapidations. This gentleman was one of the convivial corps, remarkably corpulent, jolly, and good-humored. On arriving at the assize town about seven o'clock in the evening, I placed him in the post that he had been anxiously coveting for some three or four hours previously, at a table en sconced in a snug box in the coffee-room, with his favorite dish before him, a bottle of the best port, and such a fire by his side as one views with pleasure in a raw, cold evening in March. He had been up with me all the preceding night, discussing evidence. I now told him to discuss his steak, make himself comfortable, and go to bed, while I attended the consultation. Mr. Baron Gurney was my counsel; a man that no flaw in evidence could. escape. "Has Mr. Gubble been served with a duces tecum, Mr. Sharpe?" "Yes, Sir." "Where is his report?" "Here, Sir," (producing it.) "This!" said Gurney. "This can never be the original: it is too neat and methodical. Where are the memorandums from which he prepared it?" It had quite escaped me to ask for them; yet it was obvious that the non-production of them would seem suspicious, and insure the rejection of the copy as evidence. I hastily returned to Gubble, and found him wrapt in full enjoyment: the cloth removed; the bottle but half exhausted; the feet relieved from the incumbrance of tight damp boots, and relaxing their swelled tendons in comfortable slippers; the legs extended on a second chair, and the eyes heedlessly closing over the leading article of a daily paper; while a night-cap was already overshadowing his bald temples. "Mr. Gubble! Mr. Gubble!" I exclaimed, "rouse yourself, Mr. Gubble, and come to the consultation! "Rouse myself! consultation! you mean? is the house on fire?" 66 What do "You must explain your report. Gurney doesn't understand it." "Report! consultation! I had just settled into a doze. Confound your ways of business! I don't half like them." "Come, man; off with your cap, and on with your boots, and come along with me." He slowly raised one leg from the chair, and then the other, gasping between each operation; pushed the cap back on his forehead; groped along the table for his snuff-box; and with the finger and thumb on the lid, not yet raised, growled out, "Con-sul-ta-tion! what d'ye mean?" I repeated my summons, but he was in no hurry; and deliberately exhausting the pinch with one hand, while he supplied his glass with the other, desired me to ring the bell. "Waiter, send chamb'maid. Con-sul-ta-tion! what has a weary man like me to do with consultations? Chamb'maid!" She entered. "Lit the fire, Betty?" "Yes, Sir." "Bed uppermost, Betty?" "Yes, Sir." "Three blankets?" "All right, Sir." "Pan of coals?" "Aired it well, Sir." "Live coals at nine, Betty; stir the fire a little before, Betty; draw the curtains; mind a rush-light; send waiter." The waiter again appeared. "What can I have for supper, waiter?" "What you please, Sir." Something light: devilled gizzard? "No, Sir." "Sausages?" "Can't recommend 'em, Sir.". "Oysters?" |